Edge of Hunger (7 page)

"Who is it?"

A low laugh rumbled in his throat as he held up the phone, waggling it in the air. "The sheriff."

"That's not funny," she murmured, frowning.

He snorted, another wry smile kicking up the corner of his mouth. "Tell me about it." Hitting the call button, he put the phone to his ear. "Yeah?"

"Get dressed," Riley's deep voice grunted over the line. "I need you to meet me."

His smile faded, replaced by a rising wave of apprehension. "What's going on?"

"It's Kendra."

Ian screwed his eyes closed, a sharp, guttural curse jerking up from his chest. No. Hell no.

This so wasn't happening.

"Where are you?" He couldn't bring himself to ask why his brother was calling.

Riley shouted for someone to hold on, before saying, "Out on Marsden Road."

"I'm on my way."

There was a heavy pause, and then Riley said, "Aren't you going to ask what happened to her?" When he didn't respond, Riley growled, "She's been killed, Ian. Murdered."

He swallowed, unable to scrape up so much as a grunt. "I'll be there in fifteen," he finally managed to choke out, before disconnecting the call. Fury crawled its way through his system, sickening and thick, consuming his body heat along its way, until he was standing there, shivering, his skin cold and clammy. Not wanting to look at Molly, he scanned the room, finally eyeing the flash of his keys on the TV stand by the window.

"The sheriff's your brother, isn't he?" she asked softly. "Riley?"

He tried to nod, but the movement came out too jerky, like a spasm. "Yeah. Like I said, I'm surprised Elaina left that little bit of information out."

"She told me that you had a brother and sister, but that's all." She took a deep breath, then quietly said, "Something's happened, hasn't it?"

Ian turned to look at her over his shoulder, wondering what the hell she was, what the hell was happening. "Kendra's dead."

She flinched, shaking, the color draining out of her face as if she were bleeding out, leaving her pale and ghostly, like the damn voices she apparently heard in her screwed-up little head.

"I have to get out there. Riley's waiting for me." His gut felt as if it'd been stripped with acid, and he struggled to keep down the scotch. "Where are you staying?" he asked, heading for the door.

"Out at the Pine Motel." She moved through the front door as he jerked it open, standing beside him as he quickly locked it.

"The Pine Motel? Christ," he muttered, "That place is a dive."

"Thanks for that remarkable observation," she said thickly, and he could hear the threat of tears in her voice as she followed him down the rickety stairs. He headed toward his truck, her dark blue rental parked beside it, the moonlight no kinder to it than the sun had been.

Giving her his meanest glare, hoping it'd make her listen, he said, "Get back there, then lock the windows and door and don't answer it for anyone. You understand?"

She lifted her chin, opening her car door and sliding behind the wheel. It struck him that she looked too small within the run-down rental, too fragile and easily breakable. "Don't worry. I know how to take care of myself."

Ian could tell that the low sound of doubt he made in response grated on her nerves more than any snide comment he could have delivered.

"When will I see you again?" she burst out, when he started to turn away.

He shook his head, jamming his hands into his front pockets before he did something stupid, like try to touch her. "You won't."

"Ian--"

"I want you to stay away from me," he growled, cutting her off. "Tomorrow, when dawn hits, you get your ass in your car and go back to wherever it is you came from. You hear me?"

"There's nothing wrong with my hearing."

"No," he rasped, "just your sanity."

"I'm not crazy. I wish I was. And I'm also not running. Not until we've set things right."

"Get out of town, Miss Stratton." He punctuated the order with a hard look of warning, then slammed her car door. Ian waited until she'd started the engine and driven out onto the street, her taillights disappearing down the road, before turning around and climbing into his truck.

He sat for a moment, staring at nothing, lost in thought, wondering if he'd ever see her crazy little ass again, hoping that she was smart enough to do what he'd told her before things got any more screwed-up than they already were. She could end up hurt. Hell, if she was right, if something was gunning for him with murder on its mind, she could even end up dead.

With a low growl of frustration, he jammed the key into the ignition, hit the gas and headed into the night.

WHAT HAD BEEN a shitty night turned into a grinding, bitch of a day, every lead they followed slamming into a frustrating wall of nothing. By the time Ian finally made it back to his apartment, it was late the following afternoon. While the forensics team had dealt with the gruesome crime scene, he'd spent the hellish hours helping Riley retrace Kendra's steps, talking to everyone they could find, while getting the third degree about her personal life. It was almost embarrassing, how little he was able to tell his brother about the woman he'd known for almost six months. And the crowd at Kendra's favorite bar knew even less. A couple of people remembered her leaving with some blond guy, but no one could provide his name. One cocktail waitress coming back on shift had called him "tasty," and the bartender was able to describe his eyes.

"Like a husky's. That cold, ice-blue. Know what I mean?"

There'd been an odd moment when Riley had finally pulled up in front of his apartment building to drop him off, his brother's expression one of intense frustration, as if he couldn't decide what to say. Or how to say it. Then he'd scraped one hand back through his shaggy hair and asked, "Did you ever head out to that storage place over in Mountain Creek?"

After Elaina's funeral, Riley had shipped their mother's personal belongings back to Colorado, storing them in a nearby facility. Instead of selling the small house where she'd lived, which had been in Elaina's family for generations, he had left it in working order, along with some furniture--since, according to Riley, Saige was thinking of spending some time there when she wasn't wandering all over the world, searching for her bits of junk. Everything else had been brought to Colorado, including some things that Elaina had apparently wanted Ian to have. Not that he'd been interested. He'd told Riley to throw whatever it was into storage, along with the rest of her stuff, which his brother had done. Then Riley had turned around and given him a set of keys to the storage unit, warning him that he might want to get his hands on whatever she'd left him someday.

Considering what they'd just been through, it had seemed an odd thing to bring up, but then Ian had given up trying to figure out how Riley's head worked a long time ago.

"I told you I wasn't interested in anything of Elaina's," he'd muttered, opening his door.

Before he could climb out of the truck, Riley had reached over and grabbed hold of his arm.

"I think maybe you should go out there."

"What the hell for?" he'd growled, pulling free of his brother's grip.

Riley had scowled as he'd slumped back against his seat. "If I told you, you'd never believe me," he'd said with a hard sigh, sounding worn out. "Hell, I don't even believe it myself. But if things...if things get weird, I'll go out there with you. Help you find what she left for you."

Shaking his head, Ian had climbed out of the Bronco, slamming the door behind him. As he'd walked around the front of the truck, Riley had stuck his head out the driver's side window and shouted for Ian not to go anywhere until he'd heard from him.

Huh. As if he had the energy to go anywhere. Frustration had gnawed him down to the bone.

Slamming his backside down on his sofa, Ian tossed his cell on the battered coffee table, wondering if he should try Molly at the motel, then shook off the irritating thought. If she had half a brain, she'd have already hit the road by now, and what would he say anyway? Hey, you were right. Some jackass mangled Kendra, leaving her body scattered over a field for an unlucky group of teenagers to come across when they stopped to take a leak. It was pretty sick and the kids are probably going to need therapy. Guess I really should have listened to you.

Naw, he could save that useless conversation for...never. He already hated himself enough at the moment--he didn't need to add her scorn on top of it. She'd tried to warn him, but like the arrogant know-it-all his brother always accused him of being, he hadn't listened. Seemed he'd spent years fine-tuning the worthless talent of shutting people out, ignoring them, even when they were trying to help him.

Scrubbing his hands down his face, Ian struggled to get his mind on something useful, something that would help Riley nail that murdering bastard's ass, but his brain just kept buzzing with the images of Kendra's broken body and the blood-soaked field that he knew he was never going to be able to fully erase from his memory. Hell, they couldn't even be sure it'd been a human who killed her, the damage was so extreme.

If you can't be honest with anyone else, jackass, at least be honest with yourself. You know what it was, his conscience taunted him, scraping against his nerves like a jagged blade.

You've known all along.

Ian clenched his jaw, doing his best to ignore the snide asshole in his head, wishing he could just get his hands on whoever...or whatever was responsible. He might not have been in love with Kendra, but he'd respected the hell out of her, and at the start of their affair, he'd enjoyed the time he spent with her. Kendra Wilcox had been a good person. Funny, beautiful, independent. She hadn't deserved what she'd suffered. Christ, no one deserved to die like that.

Riley was going to come back for him the second something came up, and he needed to rest before things started rolling, but he was too angry to sleep, adrenaline still pounding through his system, keeping him on edge. If he couldn't get some rest, food would be the next best thing to keep him going, but he couldn't face another nuked dinner. Everything tasted stale to him these days, his appetites bored with the usual fare.

Muttering under his breath, Ian made his way into the kitchen, grabbed the bottle of scotch and a glass, then headed back toward the sofa, picking up the remote for his flat-screen TV; the only thing in the apartment worth lifting, if anyone ever bothered to break in. Flicking on a Rockies game, he sprawled out over the cushions, trying to focus his mind on RBIs and pitching averages, rather than the gruesome images he'd witnessed--trying not to think of Kendra and the strange little blond who'd warned him that someone close to him was in danger.

Like an idiot, he'd spent the entire damn night and day trying to convince himself that Kendra's murder had nothing to do with him, that he couldn't have prevented it from happening. But he knew better. There was a burning, gnawing sensation in his gut that felt too much like shame for him to buy his own bullshit. He made an attempt to drown out the unwanted, sour emotion by hitting the scotch, but it didn't work worth a damn. Instead, he just kept sinking deeper into the guilt, like standing on the muddy banks of a river, his bare feet sinking farther and farther into the thick layers of sludge. Riley had pressured him all night for anything he could offer up, but he'd lied through his teeth, claiming that he didn't have any information. He didn't tell him about Molly, much less the fact that she'd delivered her strange little warnings straight to his face, begging him for his help.

And he sure as hell hadn't mentioned the dream they'd shared. Instead, he'd done his best to avoid thinking about it, though it was always there, lingering at the edge of his consciousness...waiting for the moment to strike.

Like now, his conscience whispered, and he drained the glass, the liquor hitting his gut with a hot, fiery burn.

Exhaustion finally overtook him in the seventh inning, his last thoughts centering on Molly Stratton as he drifted into a restless sleep. He wondered where she was, what she was doing.

Wishing he could get her out of his goddamn mind. Hating the grinding frustration...the illogical panic that burned like acid in his chest every time he faced the maddening possibility that he might never see her again.

Despite the oppressive heat of the evening, he slept hard, thanks to the booze. Until the dreams began again. Ian had half expected the fertile heat of the forest and the erotic frenzy of the gypsy campfire, and he'd been prepared to do everything he could to keep his focus on the first woman he got beneath him. If he went with it, then maybe he wouldn't find himself drilling Molly into the damp forest floor, taking more of her than he had any right to.

But as always, fate had a way of turning around and biting him on the ass.

As Ian pulled himself up from the deep, murky levels of his subconscious, he opened his gritty eyes to a soft, flickering light--and instantly knew something was wrong. Something even more messed-up than before. Than the twisted nightmares that had been plaguing him for weeks.

There was no forest...no gypsy campfire...no sloe-eyed provocative brunette to slake his lust.

Instead, Ian found himself kneeling on a soft, intricately woven Persian carpet, the air around him filled with the intoxicating scents of woman and wood smoke as a fire roared somewhere in a distant hearth, the heat of the flames warm against his naked body. And sprawled before him on her back, her pale thighs spread indecently wide, lay Molly.

"What?" he heard her gasp, surprise softening her husky voice, blurring the edges of her speech, as if she'd only just realized it was happening again. She'd probably been snuggled up in one of the lumpy motel beds, carrying on some warped conversation with his mother's ghost, only to suddenly find herself there, with him. Her gaze flicked its way down the pale line of her body, velvety brown eyes going wide with shock as she took in the unadulterated intimacy of their positions.

She moaned, and quickly covered herself with her arms.